


FFXIV Drabble Collection

by letters_in_green



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, additional tags and characters later, mentions of torture, post heavensward
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-10
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 06:27:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8522116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letters_in_green/pseuds/letters_in_green
Summary: Random bits and snippets from Heavensward and on. Tags and ratings may change in the future if I write more.





	1. Aymeric/Estinien

**Author's Note:**

> First chapter wohoo! Set after everything said and done, with Estinien back and happily getting reacquainted with Aymeric's body. Vague mentions of injuries and allusions to torture.
> 
> These dorks *flails around*

* * *

 

“And this one?”

Cold fingers traced the scar on Aymeric’s forearm.

“That’s from the Vault too. Those of the Heaven’s Ward truly performed the inquisitors’s job with ardour,” he sighed. He felt Estinien’s tense breath, fingers nearly grabbing but not quite, as if the hurt were fresh and not moons old. He waited patiently until Estinien ruled whatever temper he got in; even without the determined focus he pursued his vengeance, the man remained fiercely protective. For himself, Aymeric didn’t care for the injuries obtained during his time in the cells. They were merely “bastard” and “fraud” given physical form; nothing he hadn’t learned to cope with at a much younger age. Others were the wounds that do not heal, in truth, and he bore them with hope that one day he could utter the words “my father” without faltering.

Estinien’s hand moved along his ribs, over the remnant of the knife wound.

“That’s a courtesy of an assassin after the days of coming clear of our nation’s history. Many thought it too tall a tale to believe, and I can’t find it in me to begrudge them for it,” he answered to the questing fingers.

“I can,” Estinien’s voice took on a grumpy tone that was more show than real heat. The lines between his brows betrayed his frustration though, they told ‘I should have been here’ to one so well-versed in reading the man as Aymeric. He waited, but Estinien chose to let it go. “What about this one?” He pointed a ragged scar along Aymeric’s collarbone.

“That was the fight with Niddhog,” there was no change in Aymeric’s voice, no indication of that specific injury holding any significance, yet Estinien froze. Aymeric looked at his lover reclining over his arm, halfway in an embrace, getting acquainted with the changes these tumultuous moons brought upon his body. He wasn’t one to tell Estinien what to feel or that he should not suffer guilt for the wyrm’s deeds; there was no reason to. He watched as Estinien’s grey eyes put on the appearance of a gathering storm, and finally as he let out a shaky breath and averted his gaze to another unfamiliar scar. His smoke-scathed voice quivered only the slightest bit.

“And this?”

“That’s from handling a pan fresh off the stove,” Aymeric’s answering tone was unwavering.

The silence following the statement grew to an entity on its own.

“Really, Aymeric?” Estinien couldn’t help but laugh. “I shan’t allow you out of sight, you cannot be trusted.” He leant his head down to Aymeric’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, drinking in his smell, his presence, and marvelled at the skills of the diplomat that allowed him to present himself as a complete fool with straight face.


	2. Enemy of mine enemy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love their interactions during the route to Zenith - pole opposites in every action and idea, every emotion. Ahhh what's not to love.

* * *

 

"Are you even good for else than killing?"

 

Her voice could have been sad, could have been indignant, could have been accusatory filled with her righteous anger.

 

But it was neither.

 

It was cold. Would he been less contemptuous of her wilful blindness, surely he'd have been slashed by it as by the ice splinters of her patron deity’s breath.

 

But he wasn't. She spoke with high ideals and weeped like a coward in the aftermath of her own actions. She didn't know a thing, not about her precious dragons, not about the flames burning which he was so familiar with, in his memories, in his blood, _Niddhog’s_ blood.

 

"No."

 

Even the clank of his dragoon armor couldn't mask her silence.


End file.
